


i'm taking my thoughts and i'm making them rhyme (hide all the truth from me in between lies)

by stardustgirl



Series: i’m a fool with a curse and a crush (he’s a teenager in love) [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (it's like very very lightly implied but it's there), (kind of? its jet soo), (less than in the other two bc its mostly just ozai this time but), ALSO a slightly happier tag:, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, As you do, Aversion Therapy, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), But also, Child Abuse, Dark, Dreams, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Medication, Gaslighting, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hanging Out, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Outing, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Pining, Religious Conflict, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapist Zhao (Avatar), Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Zhao’s kind of a creep in this ngl, Zuko (Avatar) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, also this needs to be said but zhao basically tries to get zuko to self-harm so, and now for a sad tag again that’s still very important and necessary, and screaming to songs in the car, but Zuko feels Uncomfortable(tm), conversion therapy, coronavirus is present once again, he doesn’t TECHNICALLY do anything, once again like the other fics in this series this one is very dark, sorryyy, stay safe y’all and if this fic doesn’t make you feel ok then don’t read it, the last line isnt but the paragraph before it kind of is??, this is a sad fic again, uhhh yeah, vent fic once again, well kind of sort of, yes it's cursed and yes i hate it but it creates angst so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: “Thenwhat is he to you,Zuko?”  Dr. Zhao’s expression is concerned, his brows knitted together as he stares at Zuko.WhatisJet to me?“I don’t know, sir,” he replies honestly.(Or; Zuko, feelings, and trying to repair unbroken things.  Oh, and quarantine too.){Sequel to "heaven if you sent us down, we could build a playground (for the sinners to play as saints)".}
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Zhao & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: i’m a fool with a curse and a crush (he’s a teenager in love) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833397
Comments: 13
Kudos: 261





	i'm taking my thoughts and i'm making them rhyme (hide all the truth from me in between lies)

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS because this one is bad too just like the rest of the series oop. But yeah, in essence, this fic deals with conversion therapy, so if that’s a potential trigger for you then PLEASE don’t read this bc I want y’all to stay safe!!
> 
> OH also: Zhao insinuates that Jet was assaulting Zuko (which obviously isn't true and Zuko's aware but) but yeah just a warning for that because I wasn't sure how to tag it.

He meets Dr. Zhao in person for the first time two weeks after lockdown ends.

A part of Zuko is still paranoid about catching the virus, about infecting his uncle, but he knows his father’s punishment if he doesn’t go will be just as bad. And besides, he can wear a mask. (If he hides it in his car, and doesn’t put it on till he gets there, then his father doesn’t have to know.)

He arrives at the small, inconspicuous office park. He double checks the suite number in the text from Father with the directory on a sign at the corner. Suite 302, then. Time to face the music.

He lets himself into the office, sitting awkwardly on one of three maroon chairs in the waiting room. The appointment is supposed to be an hour long, if he remembers right. Just an hour. Then he can forget this for a whole week.

The clock across the room strikes three, and a door creaks open. Zuko turns to see Dr. Zhao standing in the entryway.

“Ah, Zuko Sozin. Come in.”

He nods, rising and walking to enter the short hallway. Zhao leads him into another room, one with two small couches opposite each other and a short table in the middle. Zhao nods to the far couch and Zuko sits down awkwardly, leg immediately beginning to jog. The older man sits on the other couch, gaze focused as he studies Zuko.

“So, we finally meet in person. How have you been?”

“Fine, sir,” he says, voice hoarse from nerves. A small part of him knows it’s futile to do so, but he can’t help hoping that Zhao will be nicer in person than he is over video sessions.

“And just as polite in person as well.”

Was that a _compliment?_ Zuko blinks in surprise. He hasn’t been complimented like that since...since Jet.

“Th– thank you, sir.”

Dr. Zhao smiles. For some reason, it doesn’t seem friendly.

He reaches for a black folder on the table, opening it and pulling out several photos. He lines them up on the table, facing each toward Zuko.

When he recognizes them as the ones his father showed him a few months ago, his stomach churns.

“Do you remember this boy, Zuko?”

“No, sir.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, Zuko. We’re friends by now, aren’t we?”

That smile unnerves him.

“I don’t have any friends, sir,” he says instead, voice quiet. _Not any friends I’ve seen in person in the last few months._

“So this boy isn’t a friend?”

“He...no. No, he wasn’t.”

_Jet passing him in the hall without so much as a sideways glance, the layers of cotton and gauze thick on Zuko’s face, not nearly as hot as Jet’s breath had been against his lips—_

“So he kissed you against your will?”

“No, no, that’s not—”

“Then _what is he to you,_ Zuko?”

Zhao’s expression is concerned, his brows knitted together as he stares at Zuko. _What_ is _Jet to me?_

He’s...he’s _more_ than a friend at this point, right? He _has_ to be.

But if he is...then why hasn’t he texted in months? Did Zuko misread the situation as usual? Had Jet intended them to be just a fling, and it was _Zuko_ who had projected and made it out to be more than that?

“I don’t know, sir,” he replies honestly after several minutes of thought. Zhao’s off-putting smile turns to a frown.

“Let me tell you what happened, Zuko, based off of what your father told me. _I_ believe you are still in denial, still trying to process what he did to you. To do so, you have told yourself that you were friends with him, that you cared for him, maybe even _loved_ him. But love doesn’t work that way. Love between two boys is _impossible,_ Zuko. It’s _unnatural._ ”

What he felt for Jet—what he _still_ feels for Sokka, even now—can’t be unnatural, not if he feels it this strongly.

“He forced you into a relationship that you were uncomfortable with, and to keep yourself from drowning, you told yourself that _you_ were the one who initiated it. That _you_ were gay. But you can’t be gay, because that’s merely another lie society has told to you. Don’t you agree, Zuko?”

“Yes, sir,” he says automatically.

“I’m glad you can see the truth.” Dr. Zhao sets the now-empty folder aside, then picks up a rubber band. He passes it to Zuko. “Put that on your wrist.” He does. “Now, when I show you a picture that you _know_ is wrong, I want you to snap it.”

His brow furrows in confusion, but as Zhao picks up one of the pictures of him and Jet, reality hits Zuko with a shocking clarity. _Oh._

He doesn’t snap it.

Zhao frowns. “I thought you would have the self-discipline to do this yourself, but I can...help, if you’d like.” Zuko can’t respond. He’s frozen, gaze locked on the graininess of the picture, of the way he’s seeming to melt into Jet’s grasp.

Sighing at his lack of response, Zhao sets down the photograph and picks up another. Zuko still doesn’t do anything. He still feels cold and hot all at once, a dread bubbling up into his stomach. _If you’re wrong, then why is he encouraging you to hurt yourself for it? Isn’t therapy supposed to make you get_ better?

“Zuko. I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.” His voice is dangerously even, and it snaps Zuko from his trance.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“For what? For calling yourself gay?”

“Ye– yes, sir.”

Zhao snorts. “Then do your part to _fix it._ ”

A third picture, but Zuko still doesn’t snap the band. He’s specifically been trying to _avoid_ sliding downwards on his spiral staircase, to _avoid_ hurting himself because he can’t feel anything but sorrow and terror. And now, to be _encouraged_ to do it again…?

Dr. Zhao sighs again, louder, and grabs the empty folder from where it sits next to him. He drops it to the floor, then gestures for Zuko to take its place on the couch. He does, hesitant at the sudden closeness, even when Zhao stands to retrieve something from a desk across the room. They’re definitely closer than six feet apart and Zhao is definitely not wearing a mask and he _can’t risk_ passing something to Uncle, ever. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if Uncle died. And also, being close physically close to his therapist when the man has made it abundantly clear just how _wrong_ he is makes him uneasy. It feels like being close to Father. Zuko begins to jog his leg again.

Zhao returns with a letter opener.

It looks like a sword, the long, thin blade attached to a wooden handle with an intricately carved hilt despite the miniature scale of the whole thing. If he wasn’t absolutely certain of its purpose, Zuko would think it beautiful.

“Roll up your sleeve. I’m _helping_ you this time, since you apparently are incapable of doing it yourself. If you can’t start small, then we’ll start a bit...bigger.” Maybe he _should_ have just given in and snapped the band.

He picks up the first photo again as Zuko, trembling ever so slightly now, rolls his left sleeve up. No more harm in hurting his left side more; his father’s already done enough to make it useless. No wonder Jet hasn’t texted back. Why would he when Zuko’s _ruined?_

Zhao shows him the picture. “What do you think of this?” he asks softly.

“I….”

After a long moment of silence, Zuko shrugs helplessly. Zhao picks up the letter opener.

And he cuts a short, thin line across Zuko’s forearm.

Zuko hisses in pain, jerking back instinctively. But his therapist only sighs sympathetically, tightening his grip on Zuko’s wrist. “If you weren’t _like this,_ then we wouldn’t have to do this at all. But you want to be _fixed,_ right?”

Swallowing back the truth, Zuko lies with a nod.

“Good boy.” The comment makes him uneasier still, and he shifts uncomfortably. Zhao picks up the next photo, and when Zuko doesn’t immediately renounce it, the letter opener glints as it comes toward his arm once more.

* * *

When Zuko gets home, he tosses his keys onto the counter and heads up to his room. He locks the door, then heads into the bathroom and locks that door, too, before leaning back against the wall. Slowly, he sinks down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He’s too numb to cry. Or to kill himself, as much as he wants to.

But he can feel himself sliding backwards again all the same.

* * *

Father stops by his room that night. “You’ll be taking one of these every night,” he says without explanation, tossing a pill bottle to Zuko. He takes it, reading the label. He doesn’t recognize the name off the top of his head, so he glances to the side effects instead out of a morbid curiosity that he thought was long burned out of him.

_Insomnia. Headache. Dizziness. Drowsiness. Suicidal thoughts. Loss of appetite. Blurred vision. Sore throat. Lethargy._

“What’s this for, sir?” he asks.

“Dr. Zhao prescribed it. He said it’s to help with your...urge. To help fix you, cure your blasphemy. You’ll be meeting with him again next week.” He leaves before Zuko can press further, and he’s left to stare at the bottle, suddenly exhausted.

_You’re wrong._

He’s already about as messed up as he can get, so he figures why not at least _try_ to make himself better. Sighing, he unscrews the cap and takes one of the pills.

He dreams of Sokka, of his eyes lighting up as they scream the lyrics to “Tear in My Heart” at the top of their lungs while cruising down the highway—and if Zuko changes the pronouns when he sings it, Sokka doesn’t mind. He dreams of Sokka's voice, crackling over a poor connection on Facetime, as he promises that _it’ll be okay, Zuko, you’ll move away in college and he won’t be able to hurt you anymore._ He dreams of movie nights with their friend group, of sitting just a bit too close to Sokka with their arms tangled together as they exchange soft words and soft kisses that are just loud enough to warrant several variations of _Hush!_ from the rest of them.

When Zuko wakes the next morning, he finds himself sobbing for something he can never have.


End file.
